


Sometimes we haunt ourselves

by kingwellsjaha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: (all relationships mentioned will be of some importance), Character Study (kind of), Gen, after the end of season 5, being a dad, but has problems sleeping at night, he is out there farming his land, probably canon compliant, somewhat angst, stepdad!ubbe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 14:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: What Ubbe hates are the nights, after he has brought the children to bed telling them a story, or two (or three or four until Torvi comes through the door with raised eyebrows), when everything has quieted down and there is nowhere to escape to.It’s then that his regrets come to him emerging from the corners of the room. They walk up to the bed and stare at him. He wants to move, but somehow isn’t able to. Torvi is still pressed to his side and he wants to nudge her a little, but his hands will not give in.aka ubbe is haunted by his own past mistakes, which there are a few. (or at least he thinks so.)





	Sometimes we haunt ourselves

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everything changes, everything stays the same](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915563) by [irisdouglasiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana). 

> alrightie, this was supposed to be a drabble, but it isn't. and i only have myself to blame. there is some mentions of sex in this fanfiction, which is the reason for the rating. i do not believe it's too explicit, but if you want to avoid that, when Margrethe's part comes skip the last text in the brackets.
> 
> everything ivar and ubbe related was heavily inspired by irisdouglasiana. some through her amazing headcanon and some through a fanfiction that i linked down below, if you want to check that out. (which you should, it's good.)
> 
> the title of this fanfiction stems from a quote by Laurie Halse Anderson: "In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves."  
in a way this quote was the kickstarter for this whole thing, so enjoy.

Growing older just means to acquire more regrets - regrets of things one has done and, of course, of things one has not done (and sometimes even of things one will do).

Ubbe understands now why older people busy themselves, why they work hard day and night, (apart from wanting to survive, from wanting to put food on the table). It is easy to forget with a task at hand. So he is thankful when he has to plow the land (even though Torvi tells him that he doesn’t have to that other people beneath him could do this work), thankful for this hard and foreign work. He has still a lot to learn and sometimes it seems that he will never be wise enough, when one of the older farmers laughs at him and takes the work out of his hands to explain it to him.

He likes it like that. He likes the idea that the people around him are able to joke with him and that he listens to their advice. He actually prefers to be corrected like this. In another life his father might’ve done the same thing if he had not run away for ten years.

If he is honest, he prefers farm work over ruling. There is something tedious about ruling, about forming decisions always connected to the same sort of dread. (The fear of accidentally creating more regret). It’s not that he isn’t a good leader. The old farmers all respect his decisions (because he talks with them about it weeks prior to forming them). Sometimes Torvi teases him when she watches him working on the land. She crosses her arms and shakes her head.

“My farmer,” she then says teasingly. Torvi for some reason prefers to lead more than the farm work. It’s not because the farm work is too hard for her, Ubbe believes that she just doesn’t feel the same sense of dread.

What Ubbe hates are the nights, after he has brought the children to bed telling them a story, or two (or three or four until Torvi comes through the door with raised eyebrows), when everything has quieted down and there is nowhere to escape to. When he was younger, sleep had come so easy to him, especially after sex, but now it’s Torvi that falls asleep pressed against his body. And he lies awake hot and sweaty alone with his thoughts.

It’s then that his regrets come to him emerging from the corners of the room. They walk up to the bed and stare at him. He wants to move, but somehow isn’t able to. Torvi is still pressed to his side and he wants to nudge her a little, but his hands will not give in.

* * *

From the age of fifteen onward Ubbe always had the same dream. It’s midnight and he walks through the great hall to find Ivar asleep on the throne. With a sigh Ubbe carries him back to his bed.

It’s as much a dream as it is a memory. It had been a weekly occurance when Ivar had been ten and so sometimes it had been hard for him to distinguish between reality and dream. He would watch Ivar during breakfast and wonder if he had truly carried him to his bed again or if he simply must’ve dreamt it.

(He never asked him though, he never asked why and now he wonders if he should’ve, if he would’ve understood Ivar better.)

The older he got the easier it had been to distinguish between the dream and reality, but still the dream had recurred again and again and every time Ubbe had obliged and carried Ivar to his bed. It had taken time and distance for Ubbe to understand that Ivar is his first regret, not the man he would become, but the boy he had been.

He still remembers every instance Ivar had got hurt, every bone that broke because they had not been careful. (Actually Hvitserk had not been careful, do you listen mother? It had been Hvitserk.) He remembers Ivar withering in his bed, their mother crying over his small fragile body. How he had screamed and cried as a child, and how these screams had subsided. Ubbe didn’t know when, but he still remembers when they had discovered that Ivar had broken a bone in his lower leg. From the way it looked it must’ve been broken for at least a week, but when Ubbe had asked Ivar why he had not told them, Ivar had simply shrugged his shoulders and told him that it didn’t hurt more than other things.

It had broken Ubbe’s heart. It always has. He had never understood the dream until now, until he sees Ivar, small precious Ivar, sleeping on the throne. The throne always stands to the right and Ubbe wants to reach out his hand and touch him, but his body will not move and so he is forced to simply watch him sleep. He wants to cradle the boy, hold him close and shield him from everything that is happening that is about to come._ I’m sorry, Ivar _ , he wants to say, _ I couldn’t protect you more _.

(When he told Torvi about the dream, she had frowned.

“Ivar was sick- is sick,” she corrected herself, “you couldn’t have stopped any of it. You’re not responsible for this.”

Ubbe knows this. He knows that he wasn’t. In the same way that Refil is not responsible for Hali’s broken arm. Should they have been more careful on the outskirts of the field? Yes, but it isn’t Refil’s fault. It never was.

But Ubbe cannot stop feeling. It feels like this regret has been carved deep into his bone.)

* * *

There is always a woman hiding in the shadows. She never steps out to the bed, but Ubbe doesn’t need to see her face, he is able to recognize his mother by her silhouette.

Unlike Hvitserk and Sigurd, Ubbe never believed that his mother didn’t love him. She had needed him too much to not love him. They had grown close after father had left and even before that she relied on him. She had given him the task to watch over Ivar. Every morning he had woken up to look into Ivar’s eyes and tell her how blue they were.

As he grew older, she had given him other tasks. He had punished the thralls for her if they needed discipline. He had stood next to her at festivals, her arm entwined with him stabilizing her as she smiled at the gathering crowds.

When she had pressed her hand to his squeezing it lightly as she listened to the merchants and travellers talk, he knew that she loved him.

And he had loved her too - loves her too. Although he is not sure if he can say that any longer. Which son loves his mother, but has an alliance with her murderer? Which son loves his mother, but marries a woman loyal to her murderer? (Who loves a woman loyal to her murderer?)

He loves her, at least he thinks he does, but he knows that his actions speak against him. He cannot claim it any longer. He had tried. He had blamed it on Ivar, on Sigurd’s death. (What would you think of Sigurd’s death, mother? Don’t you understand my decision? Why I had to do it.) But in truth maybe he has never loved her. It’s a cold thought, a terrible one. A thought that makes her appear in the shadows of his chambers.

Or maybe he had loved her until the moment that the arrow had hit her back, until her last breathe. (Maybe loving her had been a duty as had been avenging her and after she had died the duty had been lifted.)

He isn’t scared of her. When he sees her in the corner of the room, he just feels this ache and his heart grows heavy remembering the burden it once carried. He is sorry that like his father he couldn’t love her fully.

* * *

Sigurd just bleeds and bleeds onto the bed. He is always standing at the foot end looking at Ubbe gasping for air, slowly losing balance. Ubbe always waits for the moment he falls over onto the bed leaving big red stains all over him, but he never does. He just stands there waiting to die and Ubbe is forced to watch it with him.

He wonders if Sigurd also haunts Hvitserk’s nights (and sometimes when he feels very brave he wonders if Sigurd haunts Ivar’s nights as well.) Does Hvitserk dream about stepping between the axe and his brother? Does he think about grabbing Ivar’s arm? Maybe not, thinking had never been Hvitserk’s strong suit and after all he had remained with Ivar, so Sigurd’s death couldn’t have bothered him as much.

(Yes, Ubbe is still angry, maybe he will remain angry for all of his life.)

But that still doesn’t help Sigurd at the end of the bed. If Ubbe could he would get up and comfort him. He has the feeling that he has lost Sigurd somewhere between taking care of Ivar, trying to avenge their mother and jealousy over Margrethe.

He sometimes wonders who this boy was that had grown beside him. Why did he love music and poetry so much? Ubbe doesn’t know, but he thinks he should. With Ivar, Ubbe doesn’t know how to save him from his suffering (maybe never could), but with Sigurd the solution is plain and simple and he doesn’t understand why it had taken him this long, why it had taken his mother so long.

(Once his mother had changed the seating order to place herself between Ivar and Sigurd to stop them from throwing plates at each other. It had only made them better at throwing plates.)

He regrets that he has not seen it coming, that it took Sigurd’s life when it shouldn’t have. He sometimes thinks about the future that Sigurd could’ve had. What woman he would’ve married, what children he would’ve had.

(When Asa demands the fourth story with a glimmer in her eyes, his heart grows heavy. She looks nothing like Sigurd, but her dreamy smile is all the same.)

* * *

His mother had cried over Ivar, but Ubbe also remembers every instance she had cried over their father. Sigurd had always believed that their mother had never loved their father that she had only married him for her own political benefit (and even if that was true, it actually wasn’t as horrible as Sigurd made it sound. Not everyone had the benefit to marry for love, Ubbe knows that now.) But Ubbe remembers their mother crying. Unlike Sigurd he remembers his father’s neglect not just towards them, but her as well and what scars it had left in her. He remembers the hurt eyes of his mother.

They stare at him through Margrethe’s face. She always appears at the side of his bed. He hears her cries before he can see her approach. She always cries (unless she is not, unless she is as beautiful as she was the day in the barn, sitting on top of him).

She never says a word, just stands at his side watching him with his mother’s eyes and cries. And he feels guilty. Torvi tells him he should not. Margrethe tried to kill her children. She got what she deserved, but Ubbe knows it’s not that simple.

The truth is he had not left Margrethe the day they found out she couldn’t have children or the day he found out that she had threatened Torvi’s children. No, he had left her before that. He doesn’t know when it had happened. Someday he had woken and realized he didn’t love her anymore. Had his father woken up like this as well? Had he risen one day looking towards their mother and realized that all the love he had ever felt for her had gone? (Or had he loved her at all? No one had asked if Ragnar had loved their mother. They somehow had accepted that to be the truth, why had they been so sure?)

It had hurt him when she told him of her plan of becoming queen, of course it had. It had felt like she had used him, but most importantly it had felt like she would’ve married Hvitserk and Sigurd just as well, like he was replaceable in a sense.

But at least she had loved him with a reason and a plan unlike him who had just followed a passion. Her love for him could prevail, but his love for her dissipated. When he sees Margrethe by his bed, he sees a monster of his own creation and it’s not because he had tried and failed, but the opposite, he had been careless and apathetic.

(There is another version of this, a version he cannot tell Torvi anything about. Sometimes he opens his eyes to find her sitting on top of him, riding him in the same way they had in the barn. She is pretty and tender and her smile radiant.

He cannot do much, but look up to her moving and for a moment the feeling is back and he remembers her back in the barn, when she had first laid eyes on him. The way she had smiled and pulled him closer, not even telling him her name.

Sometimes when he rises from this dream, sweaty and still filled with lust, he catches himself missing her. He cannot tell that Torvi. He cannot even explain it to himself. It’s not that he misses Margrethe, but he misses the feeling. The feeling of being young and being in love. Everything is easy and simple. One can love without caution, without thinking about it twice.

He remembers her standing in the barn and knows that nothing will ever be as beautiful as her in that moment, not because nothing ever has been as beautiful as her, a lot of things have, a lot of things are. But it’s that they will never feel this beautiful ever again.)

* * *

Sometimes Ivar doesn’t come in the form of the small boy asleep on the throne, but the man, the young man with his braces, standing at the foot end of the bed. He looks just like he had the first time Ubbe had seen him walk.

He still remembers that moment well. Ivar’s triumphant smile as he walked towards them. All the things that had gone through his head back then, (Sigurd’s death, his father’s legacy,) and all he could think about in that moment was that if Ivar wouldn’t slouch, he would just be as tall as Ubbe, if not taller.

He didn’t know why that hit him back then. There had been other problems at hand much bigger than Ivar and his height, but it had bothered him then and it still is bothering him now.

Ivar looks down on him from the end of the bed without a smirk on his face, without any cruel intentions and it feels like Ubbe is looking at a stranger. And maybe that’s not too far from the truth because Ubbe doesn’t know Ivar. He never has, it had taken him a long time to realize that and even longer to admit it. (In hindsight it should’ve been obvious before the braces, before Sigurd had died, even before Ivar had almost killed Margrethe, but Ubbe had not been able to see properly back then.)

Who is this stranger? Why does he carry his mother’s eyes and mouth and his father’s nose and brow? Who is this man that grew up beside him? (Why does Ubbe neither know Sigurd nor Ivar? Does he know Hvitserk or is he too angry to care?)

Every day he had looked into Ivar’s eyes too predict how vulnerable he would be. He knows his eyes well, could recognize them anywhere. But he doesn’t know what’s going on behind them. And in the moment Ivar had stood up and Ubbe realized that they were about the same height, he had felt that truth. He had not been able to articulate it yet or to understand, but as Ivar had moved towards them, Ubbe’s whole world had turned upside down.

He had suddenly seen a young man, not a baby screaming in the crib, not a small boy with broken legs, not a teenager throwing a deadly tantrum. For a long time Ivar had been a duty their mother had bestowed on them, a chore to do and as Ubbe had learned one has to love one’s chores.

He’s not afraid of Ivar (or maybe he is), but he doesn’t know him. And he regrets that deeply. Because if he had known Ivar, none of this would’ve happened. If he could’ve seen Ivar for what he really is and loved him for it, things wouldn’t have happened the way they did. Sigurd would still be alive. They would rule this plot of land together fighting but content.

(He is not afraid of Ivar in the sense that he fears Ivar as a person. He just cannot pretend that he is able to assess Ivar and his bad temper and there lies the problem.)

Of course he is still angry at Ivar, he always will be. He killed their brother and acted like nothing had happened. He is a monster. (No, he is not, Torvi can say whatever she wants, but Ubbe still remembers the baby in his hands, how it had giggled when he had reached out his finger.) But he’s Ubbe’s monster, and Ubbe cannot wash away the guilt he feels when he looks up to Ivar. He wants to say something, wants to greet him, but he cannot. His mouth won’t open and he is cursed to look at Ivar in silence.

(After a night with Ivar on his bedside, he tries to take extra care of the children. He listens to Hali’s questions about politics and answers her truthfully taking her serious in her assessment. He teaches Erik how to plow the land. He tries his best to get to know them, to see them for what they are and to take them seriously.

He does not want them to think that he doesn't take them seriously.)

* * *

His regrets come and go. Sometimes they evade him for weeks, only to come back in quick succession every night. Sometimes he wakes Torvi in his fear and sometimes he doesn’t.

This night, he wakes to find a strange shadow in the corner of the chamber. It’s not his mother, neither is it Ivar. For a moment Ubbe thinks that it might be a real stranger, a thief that has managed to enter their home and is preparing to slit their throats.

He wants to reach out his arm and wake Torvi, but she has curled on the bed and he cannot move his arms. His whole body caught in a familiar invisible cage. He cannot even scream, so he tries to shake his hands, tries everything.

The stranger steps closer towards him. He wears fine clothes and leather, so not just a common thief, but a political ploy, he wonders who might’ve sent him. But then the stranger takes one final step to the bed and in the little light of the room, Ubbe can see his own eyes staring back at him.

All fighting immediately seizes and he just stares back at himself.

The Ubbe looking back at him is younger. He wears the coat his mother had given him the winter before she had died. His hair is fluffy and his face yet undamaged without any scar. He looks content a smile on his face, but there is something ugly about his smile, Ubbe finds.

Something hungry and wolfish, Ubbe can see it because he knows it’s there. Because he knows himself and he knows this Ubbe. But why is this Ubbe hungry? He is fed well, he doesn’t have to work on a farm day and night until his muscles grow sore. He should be content, but he is greedy. He wants more. And he feels righteous in his greed.

He looks at his other brothers and thinks of them as arrogant and sometimes heartless. How they lash out and want to take everything for themselves, but he is different. (He knows of the humanity of thralls. He does not enjoy the punishment of cattle.) He is good in comparison to them, but it has made him blind to his own faults and arrogant ways. He reaches out his hands with seemingly good intentions, but bruises everything in its way.

He grows up feeling responsible and strong compared to his brothers, but he cannot see them for what they are even though they are right in front of him. (The truth is that Hvitserk had been more able to see Sigurd and Ivar for what they were, he cannot admit that.)

A shiver runs through Ubbe’s body as he begins to realize why this younger version of himself has come. He stares back into all his faults and mistakes, into his own arrogance and wonders if he is any better now.

(He thinks about how Refil has cried just last week because Ubbe had told him that they wouldn’t visit a farmer nearby after he had promised him to, or how he has frightened Asa by yelling, when he had cut himself only a day ago. Will he be better than his father? Can he be better than his father or will his love for them disappear at one point too? Will he wake up some day and be empty and full of hunger for more like he always had been? He hopes not. He prays to the gods that he will not, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know.)

His younger self reaches out his hand and touches Ubbe’s cheek. It’s not a gesture of affection but a taunt. Ubbe wishes he could punch him in the face. His breathing is getting faster and he wants to scream, but can only gasp loudly for air.

* * *

“Ubbe?” Torvi’s voice takes him out of his trance. It turns within two syllables from sleepy to concerned. His younger version still stands by his side. His blue eyes piercing through Ubbe, but then he feels Torvi’s soft warm hand on his shoulder. And suddenly his body is able to move again. He yelps forward with a scream trying to grab onto his younger version only to realize that it has disappeared. There is confusion, rage and the sudden realization that he has leaned forward into empty space. He falls out of bed and onto the ground catching himself with his hands, which hurt as a result.

For a moment everything is quiet. Ubbe watches his body shake, tears are running out of his eyes, slow big tears. He wipes them away with shaky hands.

Torvi’s warm hand on his shoulder grounds him somewhat.

“What happened?”

He grabs her hand and squeezes it lightly, but does not dare to turn his head to her. (Her face would just make him break down completely.) He blinks furiously to stop the tears from coming.

“I’m not hurt,” he answers (because he is incapable of lying to her in this state.)

He can hear Torvi climbing out of the bed. Her arms come around his shoulders as she leans her head onto his holding him close. In this embrace he dares to close his eyes holding onto her. His breathing calms down as he takes in her smell, bathes in her warmth.

“What did you see?” She murmurs as she presses a kiss onto the back of his head.

He opens his mouth, but doesn’t know what to say. (He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t know how to explain this to her. He thinks about his younger self and his body recoils in disgust.) He could try and answer Ivar. Torvi would believe that. He could try and feed her this lie and see how it would go.

(Luckily he doesn’t have to. The chamber door opens and all four of their children enter. Erik and Asa looking as if they are searching for a culprit, Refil with a stick in his hand presumably to fight. It’s Hali who notices him and her mother.

“Ubbe,” she yelps in worry and then runs into his arms. He catches her just in time.)

**Author's Note:**

> i actually am not that content with everything i have written here. i still think i have to rethink ubbe's and sigurd's relationship and i'm also not sure if torvi's children all would stay with her (it is more realistic that some stay with björn. maybe this has even been implied in canon, but i am tired and i enjoyed stepdad/uncle ubbe way too much.) i also know that ubbe is a fine tactician, but i just enjoy farmer!ubbe (who knows nothing about farming) way more.
> 
> so what i'm trying to say: thank you for reading and feel free to yell at me

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I said get up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370612) by [irisdouglasiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana)


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